


Amoris Multus Rem

by COBALT (nacaratskies)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Corruption!Martin, Gen, Martin is happy but it's bad, No beta we die like mne, consensual wormification, dubcon wormification, i guess implies jonmartin but not enough to tag, lol what do I even tag this, well not really it's coercive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23355364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nacaratskies/pseuds/COBALT
Summary: Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding his friends.-"Why should I open this door?" I asked."I read your poetry," Jane said, more lucid than I'd ever heard her. She'd pushed back the overwhelming love for the moment just for me, so she could save me. "You were lonely, Martin.""Yes. So lonely." I was crying suddenly. I don't know why."So was I."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jane Prentiss
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	Amoris Multus Rem

**Author's Note:**

> Thank u to my friend who takes Latin for the title. If you're reading this, you know who you are. Get out, I only wreck my dignity in front of strangers on the Internet. I have dirt on you and I'm not afraid to use it 
> 
> Anyway, for the rest of you, enjoy my take on 'Martin dies brutally alone in his apartment.' This time the twist is that self-love is a side effect of that!! TW for blood, injury, and graphic wormification

I was so afraid. I was being silly, of course, but I was still afraid. 

I was crouched in the corner of my apartment, and there came that gentle knocking on the door again, hour upon the hour, and I couldn't do anything. I wasn't breathing right. I was crying. I was crouched against a wall, and I was crying, so I think that's why I didn't notice that one of them had gotten through and was crawling valiantly across the floor, even though it might die, to come and get me. 

She knocked again and I moaned loud as if that would drown it out. I covered my ears and sobbed, and that's when I felt it, just a little wiggle against my cheek, and I drew my hand back with a shriek. The tip of a little silver worm disappeared into a hole in my palm. My heart went cold. 

My mother never loved me, you know. I don't think anyone has ever loved me before. I doubt anyone has ever even really liked me that much. I didn't really know how to be loved. Maybe that's why I was so terrified of this little worm.

I took a knife from the drawer and I stabbed at my hand again and again and again. I dug it in, twisted it around, desperately trying to get it out, and I was crying and screaming the whole time, but it was already in too deep. I felt the worm burrowing into my arm, up my wrist, and I think I lost it at that point. I just started screaming and crying. I didn't even know what to do. I just sat there and screamed my heart out while I felt that worm crawling closer and closer to my heart. My world buzzed and pulsed around me. I think I threw up a few times, though whether it was from the pain or the fear I couldn't say. 

As I calmed down a little bit I looked down at my hand. It was mangled and it hurt so much I could barely think. It sprayed bright red blood onto the floor, staining the carpet, and when I tried to wiggle my fingers and couldn't I knew that I'd made a big mistake. 

Then I felt a little something. The worm was spending a bit more time in my upper arm, and it turned around and started burrowing the other way much faster. I couldn't even move for the pain. I was very close to passing out. I could only watch and hope that it would get caught in the bright red stream of blood that gushed from my hand and be expelled, and then I could die pure. Maybe, I thought, and maybe this was cruel, but I thought it anyway—maybe when Mother finds out I'm dead she'll be sad. Maybe Jon will be sad too. Maybe everyone will be sad and miss me. Maybe they'll all go to my funeral and cry. That would be nice. 

I shouldn't have been afraid. I was being silly. When the worm reached my arm, I felt a little bite, and then there was a pleasant numbness that spread from that little pinprick all the way through into the wrecked and twitching remains of my fingertips, and all I could manage was a sigh of relief. The worm burrowed a little circle into my wrist. It didn't hurt. It felt wriggly and goofy, like a dog that knows you're sad and is trying to cheer you up. Then it started its long trip up my arm towards my heart again, even though it was all alone, working bravely and tirelessly. 

I really did pass out then. I think it was the blood loss but it might have been shock. 

When I woke up I felt awful, so anxious and panicky and weak. I sat up and nearly passed out again at the sight of my hand, only it wasn't bleeding, just mangled now. There was a small silver worm right there, gnawing away at one last bead of blood, and it sealed it up with some sort of gluey rot from its mouth. Then it hurried back inside, like it was fleeing from rain back into its house. I wanted to touch its soft white flesh, to feel it nibble at my fingertips. I cooed at it and ran my fingers along the gluey stuff, up my wrist where I could feel it squirming. 

When it felt my touch, it burrowed quickly upwards, and soon it reached the surface, bursting out through a little tiny hole. It wasn't bloody or painful. It just came up like it was pushing up dirt. It crawled out, and to my surprise there were four others now. They all came bursting out and then went back in through different holes, making a little starburst on my skin. I recoiled, but only half-heartedly. I knew I should be scared but I was so tired. 

A little worm—the littlest there was—poked its head from another place further up my arm, then bent over and nipped at my skin, just a little bit, before disappearing. I knew it was a shy kiss. My heart bubbled over with a curious delight. 

The knocking came again. Gentle, insistent. I let my knife fall to the floor, and I knew what I had to do. I got up, and I walked to the door, though I didn't open it. No worms came surging in just yet, Jane was too respectful for that now. I pressed my hand against the door and heard Jane on the other side, quietly breathing, accompanied by the squirming of thousands. I'd never stopped to talk to her before. Suddenly I knew she was a very nice person under all that prickly exterior. The worms told me so.

"Why should I open this door?" I asked. 

"I read your poetry," Jane said, more lucid than I'd ever heard her. She'd pushed back the overwhelming love for the moment just for _me_ , so she could save me. "You were lonely, Martin." 

"Yes. So lonely." I was crying suddenly. I don't know why. 

"So was I." 

I opened the door. 

Worms surged onto my floor, and I couldn't help myself—I cooed, crouching down to run my fingers through them all. They were so soft and squishy and cute, little tiny mouths working away, writhing against the bodies of the others. They burrowed through my clothes trying to get closer to me, and as I swept my hands through, they entered there as well. I knew they didn't have to feel like anything when they went in, but they tickled anyway like an affectionate sibling. I looked up at Jane with tears in my eyes and thanked her. 

"We love you, Martin," she said, and she stepped forward and embraced me. It was a mother's embrace, tender and gentle. Somewhere deep inside me where I used to keep my mother's pain, something heavy disappeared, and I knew that it didn't matter, because I didn't need a mother since the Hive would take care of me now. 

I sobbed 'Thank you' and 'I'm sorry' over and over into her chest—sorry for running, sorry for ever doubting her love—but soon worms came to fill my mouth and I felt their bodies soft and writhing against my tongue. They tasted like stale corn chips. The sea of worms surged and overtook itself and piled onto me until I was buried in a thousand tiny warm squirming things and I laughed, _really_ laughed, for the first time in months, maybe years, maybe ever, as I let the Hive take me. 

I'd never felt such love from anything before. They kissed my skin and told me I was beautiful, that I was delicious, that my flesh and my bones and my hair and every little marking on my body was so beautiful, so glorious. I loved them so much, and when they sensed that they told me they loved me back. 

I cried, I really did. How beautiful to be loved back! How beautiful to love so many things and for so many little things to love you, to care for them and be cared for! How warm, how accepting! You know, I'd never loved myself before, not once, but seeing myself through their eyes as they burrowed through mine, I saw how warm and big and _good_ I was, how hard I had tried, that I was skilled and worthy and loved, that I was valuable, and that I'd tried so hard, and it wasn't the others' fault they were too short-sighted to see that I was a good person who deserved good things.

I knew that I loved the Hive. I knew that I loved Jane. I knew the Hive and Jane loved me, and that was all I needed. And I was filled with a beautiful, hungry, universal love. A love that was meant to be shared. 

As soon as I became conscious again I went to see my mother. I felt sorry for her. She had only ever rejected my love, and she'd never had a chance to really feel it. So I put on this big coat to hide all of my little friends—they're shy, you see, and I respect that—and we all went to see her together. I got in the doors just fine, and she almost turned me away but I managed to lie my way through the reception and into her room, and I felt sorta bad about it but my friends said it was okay. She looked at me with disgust. I told her that I forgave her, and that I knew I was amazing, and soon she would too. I looked at her with love, took off my glove and put my hand on her cheek. 

She screamed and kicked and bit. I was a little offended by that, I'm not going to lie. The staff came and kicked me out, but it was too late. My little children were inside her. She loved the Hive too, and she loved me. Her body couldn't take it, and she died in a few minutes, but I don't think that matters anymore. I closed my eyes out on the pavement and felt Jane's love for me, felt the worms' love for me, felt my mother's exquisite fear, and I was so happy, Jon, I was _so happy._

I came here after that, because I want to share that love with you too, Jon. I really loved you, you know. I still do. And I forgive you for being wrong about me, because seriously, I'm great! It's not your fault you're too miserable to see that. 

You don't have to be miserable, though. That's why I so desperately want you to feel the way I do, loving and loved so fiercely and so desperately, because I love you too. I want you to feel the tenderness of worms burrowing into your heart. I want you to know that you don't have to be afraid, that everything will be okay if you just let me share my love. 

Right, then. I'm honestly surprised you let me get through my statement! It's really interested you that much? In my limited experience people are usually running by this point. I appreciate it, Jon, I really do. Well, anyway, I think it's about time to take this coat off. Don't worry, Tim and Sasha can have some too! Everyone can. There's plenty to go around. Here, look, I'll show you—aren't they cute? Feel them, they're so soft! Hey, where do you think you're going?

**Author's Note:**

> Martin rly was ahead of the curve. Self isolating since 2016. A true covid king. You can't change my mind


End file.
